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“ V ^ e "’” r ? pll . ed mammy, “de worl’ is callin' my Miss 
Nancy Lady Astor now, but she warn’t no ladv 
twell she ma’ied de lord frum de tuther s°de- 
She wuz jes plain Nannie Langhorne!” 









MY MISS NANCY 
























MY MISS NANCY 


Nancy Astor’s Virginia “Mammy” 
Tells Why “Her Littl’ Mistis 
Ain’t Neber Gwine Lose 
Her ’Sition Ober Dar 
in Inglan’,” 



By Ruby Vaughan Bigger 


Press of 

The J. W. Burke Company 
Macon, Georgia 


N, 

1924 




X>A514 

mb 5" 



♦ 






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OCT 11'24 

©C1A809486 


London, Eng. 

4 St. James Square 
S. W. I. , May 20, 1924. 


I loved reading your little 
story and appreciate it very 
highly. It made me weep copious¬ 
ly, especially the part about my 
dear Aunt Veenie. 

It is charming! 

You know perfectly well I am 
just like hundreds of other women 
in Virginia. 

Believe me, 


Ever yours, 























The Story Of The Story. 

Some of the happiest days of my childhood were spent at 
my grandfather’s estate in Hanover County, surrounded 
by his loyal family servants—all Southern negroes, to 
whom I was affectionately known as “Little Mistis”. 

I was constantly aware of their loyalty, and tenderness, 
and day after day, and night after night, I was crooned to 
sleepy-land in the shelter of my Mammy’s arms, to— 
Swing low , sweet Cha-ri-ot, 

Cornin' fer to carry me home , 

Swing loWy sweet Cha-ri-ot , 

Cornin' fer to carry me home. 

Mammy, dear to the hearts of all Southerners—both 
young and old, belongs to a fast vanishing type, who are 
rapidly becoming mere tradition, and in their passing, 
the entire Southland is losing something very precious 
and vital. A little later, they will be considered myths. 

In my eagerness to keep alive this love, loyalty and 
respect for “we-all’s” white folks and the white folk’s care 
and devotion for them, I have written this little story, 
fresh from the hills of Albemarle, from the lips of Mammy 
Veenie (Lady Aster’s very own Virginia mammy). 

She knew her as the golden haired Nannie Langhorne of 
Mirador, who sits today among the law-makers of one 
of the world’s greatest parliaments, numbered among 
the notable women of her century, but to Mammy Veenie, 
she will ever be,—“My Miss Nancy.” 

To you, whose happiest hours have been spent in the 
shelter of your Mammy’s arms, surrounded by her tender 
care, I dedicate this little story.— The Author. 


FOREWORD 

This is a true story. Lady Astor, 
famous as the first woman to sit in the 
British Parliament, was born and 
raised in old Virginia. The place 
where she spent her childhood is much 
as it was then, and many of the same 
servants live nearby. In this story 
Lady Astor’s “Mammy” tells of her 
as she was in her somewhat tomboyish 
and tumultuous childhood. 

“Dey could trus* her ole black Mam¬ 
my fer ter treat her good, dey said.” 

B. B. Valentine, 

“Mammy s Charge .” 




















MY MISS NANCY 


ttoneysuckle! I couldn’t decide 
whether it was the overpowering 
sweetness of the honeysuckle or a 
strangely reminiscent mood into which 
I had drifted, that caused me to take the 
solitary path up the mountain side in 
Albemarle county near Greenwood, 
Virginia. 

I rode through the cool, green woods, 
pushing aside the dense foliage, taking 
care that Dimple’s heavy foot did not 
crush the brilliant rhododendron that 
clustered ’round her. With each step 
my indecision grew. Was it the in¬ 
toxicating sweetness of the honeysuckle 
and mountain ivy, or was it the craving 



12 


MY MISS NANCY 


for a fleeting glimpse of the oldtime 
Virginia, of which I had so long heard 
and dreamed, that made me climb 
higher and higher? 

Reasoning, I told myself that, in the 
end, I would only find a huge clump of 
honeysuckle, such as grew on the sum¬ 
mer-house at Greenwood, and that 
there was no more old Virginia. Mam¬ 
mies and Colonels and old romantic 
figures, which have dwelt in the minds 
of every Southerner, I knew lived in 
imagination only; I would ride back to 
join the rest of the gay house party, to 
a supper served on a dull, old mahogany 
table, set with faintly glowing candles 
and glistening silver, and served by a 
pompous old butler. 

A fallen tree across my path made me 


MY MISS NANCY 


13 


stop. “How foolish,” I thought, “to 
go on this wild goose chase! The sun 
is sinking, and I must get back to dress 
for supper.” 

But just at this moment I saw four 
dancing white eyes and some very 
shiny white teeth. In the thick woods, 
over-grown with pale, mountain laurel, 
I thought I had stumbled upon two 
little Goblins. Then I heard a deep, 
mellow voice breaking the peace of the 
mid-summer afternoon, only marked 
so far by the hum of the golden-legged 
bees and, now and then, the faint ring 
of a distant cow-bell. 

There was a rustling of the bushes, 
and the Goblins scampered away. I 
rode on, Dimple’s feet moving cau¬ 
tiously along the unbroken path. Sud- 


MY MISS NANCY 


14 

denly I came upon a picture which 
made me rub my eyes and caused me 
to slip noiselessly from the saddle and 
throw Dimple's bridle over a near-by 
tree, while I tip-toed nearer. 

A tiny cabin, nestling among many 
shrubs, with tall rose holly-hocks at 
the sides, and china-asters;—a rambler 
running over the rickety porch of the 
cabin of logs and mortar, looking ages 
old, and the paling-fence surrounding 
it, as white as the daisies that ran 
riotously over the fields below, while 
the music from the mocking-birds and 
thrush filled the air. Around a rough 
hewn table, in an old hickory chair, sat 
a black mammy, with her white hair 
sticking out beneath her bandanna, 
and ’round her, on boxes, bearing 






Mammy Veenie, in her cabin home, near “Mirador,” surrounded by her 

chilluns an’ her gran’chilluns.” 








MY MISS NANCY 




assorted labels, sat many little picka¬ 
ninnies, with kinky plaits and round, 
white eyes. 

There were too many grandchildren 
to remember each child's birthday 
separately, so Mammy Veenie, when the 
“ watermillions” were sweetest, cele¬ 
brated “all de birfdays wid one big 
feas'.'' Roses fell out of a discarded 
fruit jar on the table. Every little 
darky, gallavanting and prancing, was 
assigned a huge chunk of luscious, cold 
watermelon. 

“Chilluns,'' said she, “Yawl am 
Mammy Veenie's blessed gran'chilluns! 
She lubs you ev'y one, an' 'cordin' ter 
custum, she gwine celebrate all yo' 
birfdays. Now de fus' thing I'se gwine 


16 


MY MISS NANCY 


fer ter do, is ter 'cite you a story, de one 
yawls lubs de ve'y bes'." 

“Tar Baby?" “Miss "Nancy?" or 
“ Br'er Rabbit ?" she questioned. “ Miss 
Nancy!" they all with one accord 
bawled; “Miss Nancy!" 

“Well, I jes natchly fotch her pitcher, 
'cause I sorter s'picion yawl would 
'lect her,—jes' shows yo' Maw raise yo' 
corec'." 

Now Aunt Veenie was never happier 
than when narrating tales of family 
life at “Mirador," the country seat for 
many years of the Langhorne family, 
in whose employ she had long been. 

“Lawd, chilluns, I 'clar, dem po' 
critters dat ain't neber heah 'bout 
Mirador-in-Albemarle, 'n Marse Chilly, 
'n Miss Nannie, 'n demman’able'perlit' 


MY MISS NANCY 


i7 


chillun, Miss Lizzie, ’n Miss Irene, 
’n Miss Nancy, ’n Miss Phyllis, ’n Miss 
Nora, an' dem sprightly Langhorne 
bucks ’n dey gwines-on, dey sho’ is got 
sum’pin’ ter lib fer. Ter begin wid, 
’tain’t no mo’ folks ’zactly lek my ole 
Cun’l ’n my ole Mistis, Miss Nannie; 
an' is yawl ’quainted wid de fac’ dat dar 
ain’t nary nigger fum one end o’ dis 
heah county ter de tuther, dat done 
fail, at sum ’ticular time, ter s’cure 
holp, close fer-ter-war,or sum’pin’frum 
dem noble white folks? Dey is big 
bugs, dey is!” 

“Dear Miss Nancy,” she said in 
most endearing tones, “done muther’d 
ev’yt’ing libin’ ’roun dis part de coun¬ 
try, an’ as fer de Cun’l, de Lawd 
hisself onlies’ knows what he ain’t done 


i8 


MY MISS NANCY 


fer all o’ us po’ critters in Albemarle! 
An’ de county dis minit am runnin’ 
ober wid Chilly Langhornes—an’ dey 
is pow’ful proud o' dey name, too! 

“Duz you know, Grober Clebelan’— 
h’ist yo’ galluses, Suh!—when yo’ paw 
wuz ’sposed ter de smallpox ’demic way 
up yonder in Philadelphy, an wuz 
danj’us sick, an' I wuz down here er- 
whoopin’ an’ er-bellerin’, an' my heart 
wuz nigh to bustin’, Marse Chilly see 
me an’ he say: 'What in de worl’ is de 
matter wid you, Veenie?’ An’ when I 
tell him ’bout yo po’ paw, he run his 
han’ down in his britches pocket an’ 
giv’ me de money fer ter sen’ him ter 
git treated, and he writ me dat wid dat 
dar money, de doctor up dar (doh he 
was chock right full ub ’sease), sav’ his 


MY MISS NANCY 


19 


life, an’ g’aranteed him so he can’t 
cummunicate nothin’—nothin’—not 
eben smallpox! 

“Den, I raccolac when yo’ A’nt dun 
pass-on, at de ’sylum (she done los’ her 
min’, yawl knows, on ole-time ’ligun), 
he gin me de money ter pay her ’spenses 
an’ ter fotch her po’ body home fur ter 
be buried longst de side ub de Lang- 
horne niggers. But,” said Mammy, 
“Ize sartin’ sho’ I done promise ter 
tell yawl a tale, ain’t I chillun?” she 
asked as she brushed away the tears 
that always filled her eyes when re¬ 
calling the kindnesses of Marse Chilly 
and Miss Nannie. 

“Now dis here pitcher is de tressur’ 
ub dis whole mount’in side, chillun, a 
pitcher fer yawls Maws an’ Paws ter 


20 


MY MISS NANCY 


keep ve'y kur-ful, so long as yawls 
lib, an' dat's er fac'.'' And after 
careful and deliberate unwrapping she 
tenderly lifted from its many folds 
the picture of her young mistress, of 
not many years ago, Nancy Langhorne 
Astor. 

“Now onct a year, at de birfday 
feas' Mammy Veenie gwine 'low you fer 
ter see an' ho1' in yo' own han' de 
pitcher of my littl' Mistis,” she said, 
shaking her bandannaed head in great 
reverence, as her eyes dropped affec¬ 
tionately upon the picture. “Dis here 
is de tressur' dat I ho1' closes' ter my 
heart, glory hallelooyer!—de greates' 
oman dat dun lib sense her Maw, an' 
ez sho' ez yo' is bawn, ev'y nigger any- 
whar 'roun' heah is mouty nigh crazy 
'bout her. 












Albermarle County, Virginia. 











MY MISS NANCY 


21 


“An" always raccolac yo’ Mammy 
’longed ter dem Langhornes, and yawl 
is Langhorne niggers, an’ yawl’s home 
whar yawl’s raise is Albemarle, whar 
nobody lib ’cep’n ’ristocrats laik us, 
you heah? Straighten yosef up dar, 
you black faced Grober Cleblan’, 
Chilly Langhorne and Woodrow Wil¬ 
son ! I ’clar, ’pears ter me laik yawl’s 
got a heap fer ter lib fer ef yawls 
follows af’er de zample of Mammy’s 
white folks dat libs ober yonder at 
Mirador, you ’blege ter look proud 
laik de earf wuz your’n! Tharfo’, 
’tain’t no way fer yawl ter ’scape bein’ 
de likesomeness an’ bes’ niggers Gawd 
eber made.” Here Mammy Veenie 
paused a moment, lost perhaps in the 
reveries of the many happy days of 
the past. 


22 


MY MISS NANCY 


“Shucks, go on, Mammy; what else 
did Miss Nancy done, I lay you know ? ” 
queried the enthusiastic Woody Wilson. 

“Well,” replied Mammy, “de worl' 
is a-callin' my Miss Nancy ‘Lady 
Astor' now, but she wan't no lady 
'twell she ma'ied de lawd frum de 
tuther side—she wus jes' plain Nannie 
Langhorne—howsum-eber, jez ez 
sho'ly ez yo' bawn, he's all right eben 
ef he done tek her frum all ub us in 
Albemarle ter his own c'untry by 
sarcumstance er axerdent. I kin see 
Miss Nancy now—you know I ain't 
neber got use ter gals a-stradlin' a 
hors' an' ridin' un-lady laik as dey does, 
dese heah days, so on one 'casion a 
hoi' passle ub dese heah gemmuns frum 
Inglan' come ober fer ter meet my 


MY MISS NANCY 


23 


Mistus and her chilluns an' see fer 
deyselves how g-r-a-n’ we all’s white 
folks is, an’ I wuz ’sirous ub dem 
makin’ de bes’ ’pearance possibl’, an’ 
knowin’ what a mischeevus debil Miss 
Nancy wuz, I run up ter her room 
whilst she wuz a-dressin’ fer a big fox 
hunt, an’ I say: ‘Miss Nancy, when 
you gets out dar whar all dem furriners 
is, don’ thow yo’ leg ’cross ole Tam-O- 
Shanter, but fer Gawd’s sake ride laik 
a lady what yo’ po’ Maw dun ’tempted 
so mons’us hard ter mek’ you!’ By dis 
time, she done dress up an’ look laik 
a queen, an’ crackin’ her whip ’ginst 
her boots, wid one arm ’roun’ me, she 
say, ‘Mammy Veenie, Ize er gwine 
ter try ter be a lady jes’ fer dat!’ One 
ub dem Inglis’ gemmans was a-waitin’ 


24 


MY MISS NANCY 


ter holp her spring in de saddle, an’ to- 
gedder rid off wid one foot in de 
stirrup an de tuther th’owed ’roun’ de 
saddle—but does you know, she ain't 
no morn got ter de big gate, dan dat 
gal th’owed her tuther leg ober de 
saddle, an' when I seed hur, she wuz 
ridin’ laik de win', fyarly gallavantin’; 
an' dem ’habitants frum de tuther 
side wuz lef’ in de shade, a-ridin ev’y 
which er-way. When she cum back, 
an’ I say, ‘’pon my word, you ain’t 
kep’ yo’ promise ter yo’ po’ ole Mam¬ 
my’, she th’owed her arms ’roun’ me 
agin an’ sed: ‘Mammy, I wuz bleeged 
fer ter show dem critters, how de gals 
in Albemarle ride!’ an’ tain’t nobody 
on dis earf dat eber see de sperited 
light in dem eyes o’hern dat eber 


MY MISS NANCY 


25 


would git mad with Miss Nancy, doh 
she don't keep her promise! An’ dat’s 
er fac’. 

“Den, on one ’casion, when Brud- 
der Jasper’s chu’ch ober dyar 
couldn’t ’ceed in raisin’ de money 
fer ter ’munerate de parson fer his 
survices, all o’us ’roun’ heah in de 
hollow, wuz pow’ful low ’n’ ’nigh 
’stressed ter deaf ’cause folks on de 
mount’in side sho’ does lub to ’tend 
meetin’s. De louder he preach do mo’ 
’scouraged he got, he wuz jes ez pale ez 
a I’sh ’tater, so he hissef say he would 
hafter leave, less’n he got mo’ money. 
So dat wuz de reason how-cum dey 
’cided ter close de littl’ chu’ch, dat had 
stood so long up dar on de mount’in 
side, er-carryin’ on Gawd’s glorious 


26 


MY MISS NANCY 


wu'k. Some o' our good white folks 
heahd of our trouble and written Miss 
Nancy 'bout it. Don' you know, back 
cum er letter by return mail wid a chec' 
dere-in fer ha'f er Brudder Jasper's 
survices 'structin' us pintly dat ‘'ligion 
an' crops in Albemarle mus' be 
looked af'er.' De Lawd ain't a-gwin- 
ter furgit dat, is He, chillun? Glory 
halleloolyer! She ain't satisfied lookin' 
af'er her own 'ligion, but she is 'sirous 
fer ter holp de 'ligion ub her po' ole 
color'd friends in Virginny. She done 
dat, she did! How cum dese heah 
specs o' mine keeps a-gitten wet, 
Charles Dana Gibson?” 

Mammy Veenie still lives in the halo 
of the golden past, and whenever she 
is relating these incidents her very 


MY MISS NANCY 


27 


soul seems to feel its echo and its 
thrill. Before she realized it her soft 
mellow voice rang out— 

“Gawd be wid her twell we meet 
ag’in, 

When life’s perils thick confouns 
her, 

Put his lubin’ arms er-roun’ her— 

Gawd be wid her twell we meet 
agin.” 

“Jine in de chorus, chilluns, ev’y 
one,” she shouted and away they sang- 

“ Twell we me-e-eet, 

’Twell we me-e-eet, 

’Twell we meet at Jesus’ feet.” 

Over and over again the children’s 
voices rang out through the valley in 
tuneful melody as only the Virginia 


28 


MY MISS NANCY 


darkies can sing, in remembrance of 
their friend and benefactress 

“Hit sho is wonderful dat dem Lang- 
horne gals, wid all dey has ter do, fin’s 
hit cornveynent fer ter ’tinue sendin’ 
great boxes er warm clo’se ter dese po’ 
critters up here in dese col’ mountins,— 
an’ dem clo’se is sum’pin’ what you 
read ’bout! Dey look laik bran new! 
You always knows when de boxes 
cum, ’cause ebery nigger, ’mos’ in 
gin’rel, is ’sirous ub gittin’ ter de 
meetin’ fus’ fer ter ’zamin’ de ’pearance 
ub de Langhorne niggers in all dey 
finery. Hit sho’ mek me proud, whilst 
we-all’s circulatin’ ’roun’, ter see all de 
sisters lookin’ er-’roun’ an’ heah de 
brudder’in whisp’rin’, when we riz, an’ 
say ‘fer Gawd’s sake look at dem 
Langhorne niggers! ’ 


MY MISS NANCY 


29 


“I reckon ole Miss is pow’ful proud 
dat her chillun is a-follerin’ in her 
footsteps and can-yin’ on her noble 
wu’k er holpin’ dem what cyan’t holp 
deysevs, ebenef Sis Mandy done ’peared 
on de scene, jes’ ’bout de time dey wuz 
gittin’ ready fer communion, a-w’arin’ 
one er dem Langhorne hats hind-part- 
befo’ an’ near brake up de meetin’. 
I laff so, Ize feared Ize goin’ ter bus’. 

“Den af’er Miss Phyllis (she herse’f 
is one likely gal, an’ is Miss Nancy’s 
naixt sister), done gon’ ober yondah 
somewhar, an’ got edgycated fer ter 
sculpturize—yawl know dat sculpturize 
means—fer ter mek sum’pin’ outer 
nuttin’, she ’structed me fer ter put on 
my bes’ ap’on an’ dress an’ kerche’f in 
my han’, an’ my bandanna on my haid 


30 


MY MISS NANCY 


laik I alius w'ar, an’ ter expose fer her 
'twell she done sculpturize me, a-settin’ 
in one of dem big cheers ober yondah 
at Mirador. Projec'en wid a ole black 
nigger laik me! ” Here Mammy Veenie 
burst into one of her old-time laughs, 
joined by all the pickaninnies, who 
laughed fit to kill themselves. 

“I keep a-askin’ Miss Phyllis what 
some-eber she gwine do wid dat ole 
black thing? She say she gwine always 
keep it at Mirador fur de future ginera- 
shuns. But I dun think and think, an' 
one night it cum ter me; de war wuz 
in de midst and Miss Phyllis wuz 
'sirous er doin' her bit, so she gwine 
ship dat ole black thing ober yondah 
fer ter scare de Germans, for Gawd 
knows ef dey eber see dat, dey ain't 


MY MISS NANCY 


3 i 


neber gwine stop runnin’! But I’se 
still a-settin’ ober dyar, in de big hall 
at Mirador, an' when I done daid an* 
gone my sperit gwine ’tinue ter watch 
ober my mistus’ gran’chillun an' her 
great gran’chillun! 

“Onct de Langhorne boys, (dey take 
ar’ter dey Paw), ’come pow’ful in¬ 
trusted in some game er ’nuther down 
dyar in Greenwood, and stay out all 
night long, one night. When I cum in 
ter git breakfas’ naix’ mornin’ I ’sciver- 
ed dey beds all made up, a-lookin’ spic 
an’ span an’ I run up right quick in dey 
room an’ rumple up de beds ter beat 
de ban’, so, when ole Miss cum down, 
she think dem dar good boys er her’n 
bin a-sleepin’ sweet all-de-night-long, 
whilst I wuz down in de kitchen dosin’ 


32 


MY MISS NANCY 


dem wid bilin’ hot coffee to git dem all 
straiten’ out fo’dey kiss dey Maw Good 
Mornin’ (an’ I know for sartindey wuz 
lookin’ pow’ful sheepish, too), an’ I 
mek dem swar fo’ Gawd an’ Heaben 
dat dey ain’t neber gwine do delaik 
agi’n! Ole Miss ain’t neber know de 
diffunce, and doh she ’structed me 
neber ter ’ceive nobody, I done save 
my ole Miss a heart ache, an’ I know 
Gawd gwine furgin me fer dat ’cep- 
shun,—don’ you? 

“Dat ’minds me, my ole Cun’l dun 
tek a cawn-fiel’ nigger frum Albemarle 
ter act ez butler, when he moved ter 
Richmon’, Virginny, fer de winter. 
He an’ Miss Nannie done done dey bes’ 
fer ter train dis heah nigger, so dat, 
when soeber anyt’ing ’musin’ is spoke 


MY MISS NANCY 


33 

ub at de table he mus’n’ laff out laik 
he bus’ his sides. 

“One day ole Miss wuz ’speckin' 
some ’stinguich folks frum de Norf, 
so she took dis heah nigger ’side an’ 
say, ‘You mus’n’ notice nuttin’ dat is 
spoke at de table, jes’ sarv an’ try fer 
ter ’have liak you ain’t dyar.’ De 
Cun’l begin one er his bes’ jokes, and 
af’er a-1-1 dat trainin’ and adminishun, 
does you kno’ dat, dat dar nigger lean 
ober de Cun’l’s shoulder an’ say, ‘Fer 
de Lawd’s sake, Marse Chilly, don’ 
you tell dat one—I be bleeged fer ter 
laff!’ A cawnfiel’ nigger an’ a Lang- 
horne nigger is intirly diff’unt!” she 
said, scornfully. 

“Mammy Veenie, ain’t dar gwine be 
no mo’ white folks laik Miss Nannie 


34 


MY MISS NANCY 


an’ her Maw?” woefully questioned 
Nannie Witcher Keen Langhorne As- 
tor Brown (one of Mammy’s brag 
grandchildren). 

“P-o-w-e-r-f-u-1 doubtful,” replied 
Mammy sadly, “ ’cause times ain’t 
what dey uster wuz, an’ de part whut 
mek Mammy Veenie so sad is dat yawl 
and de ginerashun fer ter cum ain’t 
neber gwine know de blessedness uv 
sarvin’ a ole Mistus and a ole Marster 
laik I done had! 

“ In all my cyars an’ in all my sorrows 
an’ ’sponsibility ole Miss an’ de Cun’l 
is bin my ve’y bes’ frien’s. Ize ole 
an’ feeble now, but tain’t narry one 
er dem chilluns dat mout call me, but 
what I’d go at dey beck an’ call eben 
doh I feels mons’us po’ly, an’ Ize 


MY MISS NANCY 


35 


gwine ’tinue so-to-do, twell I die. 
Fer Ize sho’, dat, when my fight is 
done, Ize gwinter git my crown.” 

“Mammy, does you still lub yo’ 
Miss Nancy?” queried one of the 
grandchildren. “Lub her?” she said, 
holding one arm akimbo and the picture 
still close to her heart, “I reckon I 
does! Does yawl know who clo’se me, 
who feed me and who keep me warm 
all th’u de winter wid all de ice and 
de snow? Dat ve’y same Miss Nancy. 
Hit's laik dis: when Miss Nancy ma’ied 
de lawd an' was a-gittin’ ready fer ter 
go away ter dat fur away c’untry, she 
done ’structed Mr. Bruce, whar keeps 
dat store down in Greenwood, fer ter 
Vide, fer her ole mammy wid plenty 
fer-to-eat, an' fer-to-drink and fer-to- 


3 6 


MY MISS NANCY 


w’ar, an’ wood fer ter keep her warm, 
twell Gabrul blow his trumpit, an' 
two time ev’y year fer ter sen’ de bill 
ter her in Clivenden Castle, an’ does 
you know, she ain't neber bin too 
busy or too frustrated wid dem big 
men an’ wimmen-folks ober dar fer ter 
fergit ’bout dat chec’ fer her ole 
Virginny Mammy? Lawd bless her! 
An’jeses soon ez Miss Nancy (I be blest 
ef I kin call my little Mistess de lawd’s 
wife—doh I know she is, of co’se), cum 
ober ter Mirador, las’ time she wuz 
heah, she tuk an’ sarnt fer me ter cum 
ober dar ter see her, but when I see 
dat mons’ous big, black thing a-s-i-z-z- 
i-n-g in de road gallavantin’ and carryin 
on an’ dat horn a-blowin’ I ’loud I 
c’u’dn’t go! 


MY MISS NANCY 


37 


“’Pon my word, ez soon ez Miss 
Nancy heahd dat, she sarnt all ’roun’ 
mongst de nabers ’fo’ she ’ceed in 
findin’ a old ker’ige, an' de fus’ thing I 
know’d, heah come old Sally mule, 
jes a-trottin’ up de road, wid dat 
ker’ige right bellin’ her. 

“I sort o’ shook an’ trimbled wid’ 
’citement but I ain’ had no time ter 
spyar, fer Gawd kno’s Mammy Veenie’s 
heart wuz leepin’ hi’, nigh ter buss’in’, 
she gwine be wid her white folks onct 
mor’. Glory halle-lool-yer! White 
folks understand me heap better’n 
color’d folks, enny-how! 

“I kin see her at dis ’ticular time 
how she look when she march up de 
chu’ch yard at ’Manuel Chu’ch ober 
dar, right ’cross frum Mirador, las’ 


38 


MY MISS NANCY 


May. De paff wuz littilly strow’d 
wid flowers an’ she an’ de lawd walkin' 
long laik nuttin’ happen', whilst ev'y 
libin' thing in Albemarle county frum 
one en' plum ter de tuther, wuz dar 
fer ter meet her an' fer ter greet her 
an' fer ter crown her de Queen er de 
May! De trees 'layed dey bloomin' 
an’ de birds all ober de c'untry come 
down ter sing dey sweetes', cause— 
don’ yawl tell nobody—Miss Nancy 
is a bird, she done bin one all her life! 

“Dear, chilluns, yawl got still anud- 
der thing fer ter be pow’ful proud ub— 
dat dar chu’ch ober yondah—'Manuel! 

“’Manuel wuz a little meezly chu’ch 
onct, an’ arfter ole Miss dun lef’ us ter 
jine de Heabenly th'ong, her chillun 
’cided on dat bein’ de spot ter buila’ 














Ev’y libin’ thing in Albermarle County wuz down dar at Manuel Chu’c.h 
ter meet her an’ ter greet her and ter crown her de Queen oh de May!” 






MY MISS NANCY 


39 


hansome chu’ch in mem’ry er dere 
Maw, an' so dey done it. Some er dese 
times arfter yo’ Mammy Veenie done 
daid an’ gone, reckon some er yawl 
gran’chillun gwine be ’structed wid de 
keepin’ er dat gran’ chu’ch. Spec’ 
’twill be you, Woody Wilson, fer jes 
’ez sho’ ez yo’ is bawn, I lay yo’ Maw 
done raise yo’ fer sum’pin g-r-e-a-t 
an’ g-r-a-n-d, an’ whensoeber yawl 
passes ’Manuel don’ neber fail ter lif’ 
yo’ hat, laik dis, ter de glory er Gawd 
an’ Miss Nannie” (at this point Mam¬ 
my made a reverent curtsey), “an’ 
when dem sweet chimes rings out thru 
de valley ov’r Sunday,— 

‘Joy to de Work 
De Lawd is come,’ 

“I keep on a-lis’nin’, ’cause I thinks 


4° 


MY MISS NANCY 


’tiz de voice er my ole Mistis, ’mindin' 
all er us color’d frien’s an’ ’quaintance 
dat dis is Gawd’s day. 

“Now Ize done heah tell dat my 
young Mistis still ’tinues politikatin’ 
an’ fishatin’ an’ projeckin’ ober dyar 
in dat furrin c’untry, an’ dat some ub 
dese hi-tone Inglis’ gals is a-tryin’ dey 
ve’y bes’ ter beat her in de ’lecshun. Dey 
ain’ neber gwine ’ceed, cause Gawd, 
who is a-settin’ up yondah in His 
cheer ub pure gold, done ’zamin’ my 
young Mistis’ heart an’ done foun’ 
out dat all her life-long, she bin a-keep- 
in’ close ter de rule whut her po’ 
mother done ’structed her f’um de 
great Book whar it say: ‘De angel er 
de Lawd ’campeth ’roun’ ’bout dem 
dat fear Him an’ ’livereth dem.’” 


MY MISS NANCY 


41 


“Chilluns, I ain' no lawyer, but 
I kno' I kin argyfy an' 'splain an’ 
'spond 'bout we-all's white folks, an' 
tiz de gorspel truth, 'pear ter me dat 
some niggers, when dey gits edgy- 
cated, dey don' wuk no moh. Dey'll 
gin you heap o'sass an' jar, and dey 
jes natchly ain* got no 'spec fer de 
white folks, and don' cyar nuttin' 
'tall 'bout dem, an' dey is gettin' 
wuss an' wuss! 

“Jes hyer an' dyar you meets one 
ub’bum ole-time, man'able one laik 
us Langhorne-niggers! Dey 'sinues 
lambassin' us, an' laff fit ter kill dey- 
se'ves et de ole time chunes we sings. 
Dey don' 'zibit no sense, 'tall. Chil- 
lun, yawl cyant git no whar wid dat 
kin' er edgycashun 'fo' Gawd, you 


42 


MY MISS NANCY 


cyant! Dey jes waitin’ fer de p’lice- 
man ter cyar em ter de cage. We-all’s 
thor’gh edgycated, we is, ’rect from 
we-all’s white folks et Mirador. Dey 
teach us all we ’sire ter kno’—don’ 
dey, Chilly Langhorne? 

“An’ yo’ mammy lub dem so fer 
dey goodness ter us, dat ’twuz mouty 
hard ter larn, dat af’er ole Miss lef’ us 
an’ Miss Nancy done tuk up wid de 
Lawd in Inglan’, dat de vi’lets and de 
honeysuckle in Albermarle could still 
bloom jes de same,—doh dey ain’ neber 
smell ez sweet—is day Irene Gibson ? 

“Somtime I fergits she’s gone an’ 
’spec ter see her mos’ enny time, fell 
sense she’s gone ’tain’ nuttin’ ’tar 
’pears ’zac’ly right ter me, not ’cep’n 
de ole houn’ dorg—let ’lone my vittals 
an’ my dram. 



Emanuel Church, near Mirador, rebuilt, enlarged and 
given “To the Glory of God and in Memory of Our 
Mother” (Nannie Witcher Keene Langhorne)—By 
her children. 












MY MISS NANCY 


43 


“De 'hole caboodle er niggers an' 
white folks 'pear ter be drif'n er-part, 
'tain' right, an 'tain' gwine tek no 
scienc', but common sens' scienc' ter 
git things racconcil'd. Now, list'n 
chilluns, ef yawl does yc> part ter 
please de white folks an' be perlite 
an' 'spectable, I low, de white folks 
gwine sho’ly do th'arn by you! 

“Now lem-me tell you, dis is yawl's 
Mammy's proph'sy an' arfter I done 
daid an' gone, ef'n yawl don' 'tend-ter- 
hit, I sho' gwine hant you ev'y one. 
You heah, Keen Langhorne, you heah? 

“You see chilluns, in de beginnin' 
wuz man, he's mouty lon'some so 
Gawd, by some hook er crook, mek a 
'oman fer ter help 'im out. Dat how- 
cum ole Mais'er mek Adam an' Eve. 


44 


MY MISS NANCY 


Dey wuz white folks ’zackly laik ole 
Miss. Den He ’cided dat day mus’ 
have somebody fer ter gin’ ’em a lif’, 
now an’ den, an holp dem wu’k. 
En-ter mek de’stingshun betwinst de 
two (one wuz de Mars’er an’ tuther 
de sarvant), He ’cided dey better’n 
be diffunt colors—dat’s how cum He 
mek we-all’s black, an’ de white folks 
white. He didn’ mean nuttin’ ’tall 
by dat an’ tain’ nuttin’ ’tall ter tekno 
’cepshun ter is et, Nora Langhorne? 

“Den Gawd put in de white folks 
heart ter be kind ter de black-man an’ 
trus’ ’im an’ ter treat ’im good—he 
done it—ole Miss told me so. Now 
Gawd done put et in de black-man’s 
heart ter ’turn de complement, back, 
dat’s how et ’tiz! Dey ’mind yo’ 


MY MISS NANCY 


45 


Mammy er a pyar er Mr. Bruces' scales, 
down yonder in Greenwood. De two 
sides wuz made fer ter balance each 
udder, an', ef dey don' git ter projec'in' 
wid de 'chinery part er de scales, whar 
dey don' kno' nuttin' 'tall 'bout, dey 
gwine 'tinue, balancin' fur-eber'. Dat 
dey is!" 

As the sun went down, and the frogs 
and crickets began calling, I turned 
from this little scene of a day forever 
gone, with a big lump in my throat, 
longing for the olden days of happy 
childhood and the ever faithful Vir¬ 
ginia Mammy. 
































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